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vanessa ann Mar 2020
if i were any good at songwriting,
perhaps i’d be like clairo,
and write about how soft you’ve made me feel,
or the gaping hole you left in my stomach that spells out

if i was any good at romance,
i’d have straight up told you
how cool you were
how cool your creations were
how cool it’d be if we hung out

even as my heart is ablaze,
like sunny hong kong,
the wind singing along,
you are wrong, so wrong,
for this

perhaps i could write a novel, then
of a forbidden love between two lovers
in a summer long, long
except it’d be fiction,
but maybe i’d lie and preface it with:
“based on a true story”,
if it means making a blockbuster,

so come on virginia,
i think we could do it if we tried…?
i love clairo and i loved you, at least a little bit
Karliah Feb 2020
A city of people
Established under the concept of individuality from its collector,
Accustomed to the separation and liberty
Others are not so lucky to receive.
Yet in the raptorial eyes of authority and power,
No such liberty matters.

In a country of despots,
The autonomy of this shelter threatened with extradition,
And the consequence of more strings
Being tied to the city by the ever-present hands of the puppet master.

A city of people
Protesting this invasion of the home.
Lives put on pause as a people’s purpose is pushed to the forefront.
Streets stuffed full,
Airports shut down,
The voice of the people shall be heard.

A city of people
Suffering through the brutality of their protectors.
Emblazoning their message to the masses.
Shattered windows and graffiti reveal the real truths.

Tear gas,
The ruined arm of a medic cries louder than his plea for help.

No help has come.

In distant countries
Those with an audience speak out in the name of Hong Kong.
Punishment is inflicted upon them by the puppet master.

Money with the power of silence,
And censoring opposition.
Money with the power to end careers.
And keep the people blind.

Like the strings on a puppet,
Chinese business holds control.

A city united.
Abandoned, but not powerless.
Never paralyzed by the fearsome eyes of control.
Ever strong,
Stand with Hong Kong.
Might get some mixed reactions from this.
Would nothing be guaranteed?
Can short pain be part of the journey,
when moving towards long run joy?

Although it is always safer not to go on that journey,
Unknown is the path, nothing is guaranteed...

A thousand and one are the hazards of the journey,
many are the pitfalls -
Nothing can be guaranteed...

Will each small piece of love compose to a secure jigsaw?
Didn’t we search for love in a crystal ball?
It was hidden inside,
a *******.

And the seed was very hard and
the sprout had
“very, very limited’ room to meet with treasure for all!

But the seed tried,
she whispered, but assertively,
If it was an effort;
She drops the hard shell.

Does she start moving?
Immediately the light twinkles:
the struggle with the soil, together with the stones,
dancing with the rocks.
By Angel. XJ 04/09/2019
My pitch through sow
and debt trouble superfluous
with wealth in Coe
where thrift a hoax now
but tread yuan nigh
there my dear and die in relief
that join forces by tomorrow's spring.
Sebastian Coe-Parliamentarian noted for Paralympics
Ceyhun Mahi Feb 2017
A gleaming view above Hong Kong,
Narrates much delight of Hong Kong.
Mâhî hasn't visited there,
But yet still he does love Hong Kong.
A quatrain with a redif (refrain) 'Hong Kong' who comes after the rhyming words (above, of, love). I really like to use this kind of refrain because it gives me space to remain with the subject I am writing about, although it can also limit poetic expression, too. I have learned this technique from studying Ottoman Divan literature and Persian poetry where this is used frequently, but I also have seen Shakespeare using it in one of his sonnets. I even think that this way of rhyming can make rhyming much more popular again in modern poetry; it does rhyme, but with a different touch this time.
Nigel Finn Dec 2015
The darker side of my mind is where
Abstractions of fragmented poetry breeds;
A baby lies dead in a Hong Kong gutter,
And my lines fall into place.

Broken hearts sing lullabies to me,
Two savage beatings spare me a verse,
New Orleans lends me four at low interest,
And throws in a haiku for free.

The old veteran quotes me three lines
And gets buried with the last.
The rhyme festers with his body;
Both soldier
                      and verse

I can't explain the beauty I see
In the dying faces of the abandoned ones,
Nor tell you why, if the bomb were dropped tomorrow
I should weep in both anguish and delight.

I can only tell you, should it all end,
Should all modern horrors dissapear,
The future will weep for the joys of the present
And smiles will dissapear forever

— The End —